


The Duck That Swam

by AngstyLlamaCrossings



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Comedy, Deals, Ghosts, M/M, Mystery, Plenty of deals, Post-Weirdmageddon, Some Fluff, dark humour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstyLlamaCrossings/pseuds/AngstyLlamaCrossings
Summary: After a weekend trip to the beach turns sour, Dipper loses his body and turns into a ghost. It's up to the ol' Gravity Falls crew to solve the mystery and save him in time, even if doing so means consorting with a familiar Dorito demon.Bill on the other hand, is too busy laughing his ass off.
Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	1. The E.N.D.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit*  
> Tags have been updated now that I know where this story is going.
> 
> Enjoy!

He had a dream.

  
He’d had plenty of dreams before but this one felt different, felt real in a way that was hard to explain.

He was standing between two rows of houses, the one on his left painted a sunny yellow while the right donned a cool baby blue. More importantly however, they were all on fire.

This was a rather curious sight, for it is not everyday that one gets to see a burning building, much less multiple buildings burning in succession (unless of course one was a fireman who had plenty of experience putting out fires, or if one was an experienced pyromaniac who started all the fires in the first place). Smoke climbed up high in a steady stream and when Dipper looked up, he was unsurprisingly surprised to find that the world was ending.

Now, the start of every fire does not mean that the world is ending, otherwise the world would have ended several times by now and both the fireman and the pyromaniac would be put out of a job. Some fires are good, like the Olympic torch; while others are bad, like an insurance fraud. But this fire was different from all the rest, instead of burning orange in the middle and red at the edge, this fire was blue.

A cold and eerie blue.

So blue in fact, that it seemed as if the houses were drowning deeper and deeper into the icy abyss when really, they were going up in a blazing inferno. Someone clever but rather meek once said that the world would end in fire or in ice, but that person is now dead and could not have told you that it was both.

Whoever had been to tasked to destroy the world wasn't picky about _how_ it got done as long as it got done, the very same way a janitor may view his job of unclogging a particularly stubborn toilet. 

But Dipper knew it was _THE END_ simply because it was written, quite literally, in the stars.

Up in the sky were the letters ' _A-r-m-a-g-e-d-d-o-n_ ' spelled out in an elegant cursive, complete with the perfectly asymmetrical heart dotted at the end. He would've spent an eternity admiring the beautiful artisanship if it weren't for the giant 'X' also looming above his head.

The cross split open like a clogged toilet, flushing everyone and everything out of existence, making quite a magnificent mess of everything.

“Pretty picture ain’t it?”

The sudden voice surprises him but its owner does not. Bill is standing beside him humming a familiar tune, looking relaxed and playful and not at all like they were in the middle of an apocalypse.

“Someone should be filming this.” Bill reproached, knowing full well there wasn't another living soul left to do his bidding, “It’s not everyday that THE END happens you know."

So Dipper had been right about THE END being THE END but being right about THE END did not make him feel any better that it was THE END.

If anything, it made him feel worse.

The flames were getting close and very soon there would be nowhere to run. He would be forced to submit as the flames licked at his feet, nibbling tiny holes through his socks, begging to climb up his thighs so they could have a taste for what lay beneath.

Anyone (from the bravest fireman to the vilest pyromaniac) would have run away by now; or called for help, or did something other than stand rooted to the spot and watched silently as the world wasted away. But Dipper doesn't move, doesn't speak, he's safe in the knowledge that no matter how the fire barked and snapped, bent and roared, it would not touch him.

Bill wouldn't allow it.

“No you’re right, it wouldn't be any good.” the blonde answered, even though Dipper hadn't said anything “everyone likes happy endings don't they? Not terrible stories with terrible people doing terrible unspeakable things and dying terrible unexplained deaths."

Bill chuckled to himself, "S'not really worth the trouble, aye?”

He's not really expecting an answer and so Dipper doesn't give him one. The dream demon always knew exactly where to hit so it’ll hurt and nine times out of ten, he was right. A hero is only a hero if they save people, aren't they? What else is a hero good for?

No one wants to read about a hero who couldn't save himself, much less the entire world - such would be a pointless narrative. It would be better to skip ahead, or move on to something else entirely than to waste one’s valuable time on such inane drivel.

“It does look lovely though.” Bill whistles low, scraping metal through his jagged teeth. His angular face was stretched wide, a grin nailed from side to side.

“Lovely like a Pine Tree.”

The flames reared on its hind legs, roaring like a steel dragon clawing its way to freedom. But the closer it got, the closer Bill got too, and neither of them had moved an inch.

Dipper looked toward the sky for answers, praying for an instruction manual that would tell him what to do, what to say to make this all go away. When no such heavenly text descended however, he turned back to stare at the houses, only to find out that they had been replaced by a scenic forest - a forest full of burning pines. 

It took a moment before he realized they were back in Gravity Falls, the once lush greenery charred away to look more like pieces of seaweed drifting along the shore. Further up, he could barely make out the limp shadows of several corpses twisted upside down from the branches, sparkling like Christmas ornaments.

He was surprised to find them there, and even more surprised that he recognized a few of them. In his surprise, he made the mistake of tripping on his own two feet, falling hard and fast into the awaiting arms of Bill Cipher. Black claws shot out to wrap tightly against his waist, whispering sweet nothings low in his ear.

“The very last Pine in this whole forest.”

A whirl of blue flames and the last dying embers of the summer sun. Smoke curled into his nostrils, filling up his lungs with nightmarish beauty. The fumes make him dizzy, knees weak so that he doesn't feel the burning sensation in his feet, spreading up his thighs until it is far, far too late. 

Bill giggles softly, "the loveliest Pine of them all."

Dipper closed his eyes, unwilling to bear witness to THE END any more than he could help it. Any time now, he’ll wake up and this will all just be a pleasant dream.

_**(YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP!)** _

Or perhaps a terrifying nightmare?

_**WAKE UP!** _

It was hard to tell.


	2. The R.I.P.

  
The sea whispers her secrets in the distant squall of gulls and the periodic swoosh of the tides. Her long tresses spill onto the shore, dimpled cheeks of golden sand sandwiched between the brilliant blues of sea and sky. She keeps her secrets in the soft curvature of islands from distant shores, swallowing their mysteries in the deep caverns of her belly.

  
Dipper leans against the cool metal rails, eyes roving the horizon. Large cruise ships dot his periphery, tiny yachts with billowing sails circling close by. Raucous laughter snaps him out of his reverie and he turns to see a boisterous group heading down to the beach, probably college kids like him. Their bodies are long and lean, taut with brightly colored boogie boards. One of them waves and he gives a steadfast salute, earning him a flyaway kiss as a reward.

They take to the waves, gliding effortlessly across the star-studded surface. He watches them go with an inexplicable sense of wistfulness, a sudden stirring deep within that he could not shake, no matter how badly he wanted to. It was as if the sea herself was calling his name, beckoning with a siren’s song from the very depths of the ocean.

 _It’s probably the stress_ he thinks, recalling the end of year scramble to study for exams, finish his thesis, work a part time job and try not to kill himself in the process. He knew college was going to be tough but hadn't been prepared for the sheer amount of crap waiting for him. The worst thing is, Mabel isn't there suffering alongside him. He always knew they had to part someday and college had been the deciding factor, she wanted work experience, he wanted job security and so found at him at college without his best friend.

He tried sharing his troubles with Grunkle Stan but that was probably the worst idea he'd ever had. Stanley Pines is many things but an understanding ear he was not. After Dipper had poured his heart out, Stan had only this to say: "Kids should be put through the wringer more often. The child labor laws in this country are ridiculous, a twelve year old is more than capable of chopping wood for chump change!"   
He sighs, feeling very much like the pieces of seaweed that littered the beach, washed up and wrinkly. Deep within him he wondered what the point was, if dropping out really is the best answer? But he had come so far. To give up now, was it something he could really do?

Something cold touches his cheek and he lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched scream, scrambling back in haste.

“Chill out dude.” Flaming auburn hair, green plaid button up and a smile that shines brighter than the sun. Wendy Corduroy towers over him with a giant grin, armed with an outstretched can of cherry coke.

“Thanks.” He takes a large gulp gratefully, hoping it was enough to mask the heat spreading on his cheeks. God, did he really just squeal in front of Wendy Corduroy?

 _Yes you did, you giant moron_ , his brain supplies helpfully. He resists the urge to face palm and instead takes another swig, sneaking glances at the rad plaid girl and hoping it wasn’t obvious. (It was.)

It was something of a miracle that he found her at all, especially since she graduated just as he was accepted into college. Thank god their school had a decent Environmental Studies M.D. program. Living on the same campus did not make it easier to meet up however, since their schedules often overlapped.

They only met because of the same 8 a.m. elective class no one wanted and when she asked to copy his notes, he knew his feelings for her had not changed, not since the seven years they’ve spent apart. It was almost (but not quite) romantic, in a way. If Mabel had been there, she would have (strongly) advised against pursuing his old flame, especially since the last time the red head had (publicly) rejected him. Twice. Fortunately for him, she was nowhere near and could not tell him that his Mission to be a Mature Man of Manly Manliness (M.M.M.M.M.) would backfire in his face. (Badly.)

The first agenda of M.M.M.M.M. is to invite Ms. Wendy Corduroy out on a date, preferably doing something she liked. It had taken him two whole semesters to figure out what that ‘something’ is and it's hiking, which is how he finds himself on a lovely Wednesday morning awake at a time that is too early and exercising on a stomach that is too empty.

On cue, said stomach grumbles and he makes a desperate plea for it to shut the hell up. His pleas go ignored and he reddens at the display of utter betrayal. Wendy laughs, at him or with him he doesn't know but she throws a strip of jerky in his face and they keep on walking.

Eventually, the mossy shoreline dwarfs into a thin stream, gold sand giving way to greying layers of slab and stone. They pause when the path comes to an abrupt end, the cliff face staring back at them with contempt.

“Please tell me we’re not heading up that thing.”

She smiles a secret smile but doesn’t respond, lifting herself over the studded ledge with the grace of a seasoned mountaineer. Her long legs map footfalls that make it easier for him to follow and he very nearly swoons as she makes it up the rocky terrain, overcoming each obstacle without breaking a sweat.

Before long she’s reached the top and beckons with a loud ‘whoop!’ of victory. Dipper licks his lips, knowing it was his turn. The cliff stood imposing, a black shadow marred by granite hooves. He takes a hesitant first step, feeling the rough surface scrape against his palm and quietly utters a prayer under his breath.

“Aww man, the view from up here is unbelievable!” Wendy’s voice drifts down from high above. He braces, suddenly thirteen again and wanting desperately to impress the girl of his dreams.

Resolute, he makes the slow crawl up the inclined slope.

It takes a couple tries but by the third bridge he has a good rhythm going, _don’t look down just don’t look down._ Loose rocks tumble from his grip and he swallows, _don'tlookdowndontlookdown—_ He hears snickering and swears the lichens are winking at him, mossy heads tickled by his apparent agony. Or maybe he was just hungry. And dehydrated. Yea that’s probably it.

When he finally clambers over the top, he collapses with a mighty expulsion of breath, Wendy laughing capriciously beside him.

“You did good Dippy Dots.” Her smile is all soft sunshine and he blushes, annoyed by the use of a childish derivative but also horribly flattered by her candor.

“Not as good as you though.” He answers ruefully.

She turns away, inching slowly towards the pointy edge of the escarpment. Up here the playful ocean breeze turns violent, a thrashing beast that hisses and spits, spraying salty barbs that clings to their flesh. He shivers and follows her, mindful of the slippery logarithmic shells etched beneath his feet.

At the very tip Wendy spreads her arms, long maple hair fluttering wildly in the wind.

“HOT BELGIAN WAFFLES!” She screams at the top of her lungs, “I WANT HOT BELGIAN WAFFLES, YOU SONS OF BEACHES!”

He laughs, taken aback by the sudden proclamation. At that moment they were kids again, him a massive dork and she an Amazonian warrior princess. Nothing had changed at all. After all, things would always stay the same, no matter what transpires between them. Small comfort, isn’t it?

The knowledge both excites and terrifies him, he doesn’t know what it means but he would like to try anyway. A shot in the dark is better than no shot at all. _Ring-a-ring-a-rosies, a pocket full of posies!_ The words are falling from his lips in a jumbled mess before he can make sense of them.

“Wendy, I need to tell you that I-I—“

“Watch out!”

She reaches for him but it’s too late.

One careless move and he’s falling. Slicing through the air like a paper doll.

“DIPPER!”

The swirling eddies below suck him into a vortex of screams, laying siege to the walls of his lungs. He hits the water and tries to paddle but the waves are too strong, barnacled chains dragging him down to the murky depths, towards the mouth of the leviathan.

The sun beams downs at him, a cruel unblinking eye. The brilliant blues of sea and sky darkens into a deep vermilion plume, and he only half realizes that he’s drowning in a sea of his own blood. It only takes a minute before he loses complete control of his limbs, crying softly as the waves laps him up into a gentle abyss.

> The last thought he has is this:  
> "I can’t die! Please don’t let me die! I have college debts to pay! And I just met the girl of my dreams again! Oh please god, don’t let me die a virgin!"
> 
> The last regret he has is this:  
> "Is this Hammy’s revenge for not feeding him in the 4th Grade? Cause I’m very very sorry about that!"
> 
> The last image he has is this:  
>  _Mom and Dad are smiling at his graduation; Mabel has tears in her eyes. The robe he’s wearing is a little too big for him and he trips twice but for the first time in his life, nobody seems to notice._
> 
> The last words he speaks is this:
> 
> “GOO GAH GLUG Urghhh…”

And with that, Dipper Pines was no more.

The E.n.D.

***

There is a famous saying that one may have heard before, it goes something like this: when one door closes, another door somewhere else will naturally open.

This is fake news, as the same person who made it up has also neglected to close the door to his fridge on more than one occasion, causing all the food inside to go bad and his guests to have a terrible case of the stomach flu. In this instance, when one door closes, it better be the same one that was opened.

For members of the Shabono tribe living down the coast of Venezuela, doors are not only optional but also completely nonexistent. This is because everyone shares in the same communal space, living healthy fulfilled lives with nature far away from the rest of the world and their troublesome doors. In this instance, when one door opens, all the doors will be open.

It is also good to remember that there is always more than one type of door. In fact there are many different kinds of doors, each one more unique than the next. One such door is the revolving door, for unlike its predecessor, the revolving door does not require a hinge in order to function properly. Instead, it uses the rotational inertia of an axis as a centripetal force so that upon entering, one may find themselves spinning aimlessly in concentric circles before they are spit back out, right back where they started.

The inventor of the revolving door has done this to confound unwanted guests from trespassing at high-end establishments. It is why all important government buildings are guarded by an imposing set of revolving doors. In this instance, when one door closes, it is simultaneously open at the same time.

This may no doubt be confusing, for what could possibly be both open and also closed at the same time? It doesn't make sense does it?

Some exceptions can be made certainly, such as the oxymoron, which is a literary term for an oxygenated moron. (You can find plenty of those in said important government buildings.) But on the whole, that which is open and that which is closed must remain separate, lest the entire universe implodes on its own fallacy.

Another exception is Schrodinger’s cat (who is really Schrodinger himself in disguise), a clever feline that traverses the doors of life and death as if it is both open, yet closed. “The trick,” she once said, “is to always tip the bouncer on your way in or out, _meow_.”

As for how big the tip should be, well that is entirely up to one's own judgement, though a crisp dollar bill should do very nicely.

Very nicely, indeed.

THE E.N.D.

(again)

***

They held his funeral next to a Wendy’s (the restaurant not the girl, though they are very much alike).

  
Grandgale’s Memorial Services was once a popular hot spot for the town’s newly undead but ever since the war, business is not what it used to be. Not enough dead bodies to keep things afloat, not like in the old days. Things got so bad that the elderly couple running the place could not afford in-house dining services as part of the standard funeral package and so decided to outsource their catering to the lowest budget restaurant available. Ergo, the Wendy’s.

Much to the ire of city management, this turns out to be a splendid idea. Grieving mourners flock to the fast food joint to drown their sorrows in greasy comfort and for an extra 99 cents, they could do so with up-sized splendor.

It’s how Mabel finds herself crammed round a booth, surrounded by (vaguely Irish) relatives on all sides. The table is a succotash of buns, burgers, wrappers, bottles, paper cups, ketchup stains and bits of crumbs that never seem to disappear no matter how hard she swipes at them.

She wishes her grunkles were here, at least they were familiar. She could scarcely recognize the sea of faces, and none of them knew Dipper like Stan and Ford.

They had just ended the church service, followed by the burial ceremony before finally settling into the sticky plastics seats for lunch. The whole time, Mom had not stopped crying.

Even now, as she was chowing down on a double chicken burger with no pickles and extra mayo ( _only $4.99 for an upsize!),_ her tears fell in fat globules and onto the soggy sesame buns.

“Oh my child! My baby! Why? Someone tell me why?”

“Hush hush dearie” Cousin Marge tutted, smoothing one hand up and down Mom’s bent back “It’ll be alright, maybe not today but some day, time heals everything.”

“She’s right hun, cryin won’t do you much good.”

“It won’t bring him back that’s for sure.” Uncle Simon added through a fistful of fries “Though lord knows the boy’s been taken too soon, tis a pity.”

In response, Mom wails even louder. She wails so loudly that all the crying infants in her immediate vicinity decide to join in, starting with Baby Girl Cressida, who is still swimming in her mother’s jacuzzi.

“Catch yourself on!” cries a scratchy voice from the other end of the table “If the wee woman needsta weep, yer very well lettin’ er. Why, when me husband, poor ol’ Georgie, god rest his soul, when he be passin, I were weepin fer days, t’was aye.”

“But Aunt Sarah, I thought you hated Uncle Georg.”

Aunt Sarah cackles “Aye, tears of happiness they were.”

“I hardly think that’s the same thing Aunt Sarah.”

“It’s the same if me says its the same.”

“Can someone pass the mustard please? Can’t seem to find it anywhere.” Dad plows through the stacks of wrappers, oblivious to the spot of barbecue sauce on his beard.

“Still better than your Uncle Ford’s funeral, damned fool that he was. And that brother of his is no better.”

Mabel looks up sharply, the double chocolate chip cookie held in her fist quickly disintegrating into buttery sand.

“Oh yes the twins, I’d nearly forgotten! Whatever happened to them?”

Grandma Rose furrows one wrinkled brow. “Last I heard, Ford made off with that hussy from the bar, the terrible one down the pier with all the skulls and the hooligans.”

Someone slurps loudly on a cherry coke and everyone turns to glare at Aunt Sarah, who burps and flashes a thumbs-up.

“Then what happened?”

“Made off with all his money I should think, married a guy ten years younger and disappeared poof! Poor ol’ Fordsy was heartbroken, some say he drove his car into the lake—“

A round of gasps and Rose savors the moment before continuing, “others say he went off the grid, VAMOOSE!” She flourished the last bit with an onion ring, splattering oil stains everywhere.

“Ah here it is!” Dad fished the bright yellow bottle in triumph while Cousin Duncan stares at his own empty tray, silently wondering if it was too late for another baked potato.

“What about the other one, what’s the name—“

“Stan I think. Stanley Pines Jr.”

“Always a bad sort that one” Rose adds bitterly, “Nothing like his brother. Nothing at all. Did you know he stole from his own family? I remember the day-“

Mabel slips out of the booth unnoticed, she had heard quite enough.

She makes her way out and doubles back to the empty parking lot behind the restaurant when a racoon pops up from behind a trash can, screeching loudly. She giggles and pats its head, feeding the poor thing with leftover cookie crumbs from her sweater. It munches from its tiny black paws before scampering back into the darkness whence it came.

Finally alone, she hisses to the empty alleyway, “Dipper!”

Nothing. She tries again. “Dipper you can come out now!”

A small whoosh of air answers her call, sending bits of dead things swirling from off the ground. She blinks as a spark of blue light flashes and a pale phantom materializes out of thin air, its pale face a mirror image of her own.

“Heya Mabel.” Dipper, or more specifically ghost-Dipper, greets.

Mabel does her best not to flinch, afraid of hurting her brother’s feelings but also slightly perturbed at seeing the supernatural so far out of Gravity Falls. She had hoped never to set sights on the undead ever again, not since the giant horde of zombies that visited the Mystery Shack for a midnight rendezvous.

Dipper looks the same as he always does, navy bomber vest over a hideous orange tee and three quarter cargo pants. Seems like dying had not improved his dress sense by much. Pity.

“Dipper!” She reaches out to pull him into a hug only to stop short as her fingers phase through his chest, grabbing nothing but air.

“Huh.” She repeats the motion, fascinated by the jello like texture.

Dipper snorts. “That kinda tickles.”

When she grabs for him again he ducks, floating a couple inches into the air.

“Hey, I’m finally taller than you!”

She throws her head back in laughter. She tries to pounce on him again but misses and before long they’re engaged in a spirited (ha!) game of tag round the corner. Every time she gets close enough to reach for him, he hovers just a little bit out of reach, just a little bit too high up in the clouds.

Exhausted, she leans against the wall and he does the same. One heart beating wildly, while the other only an illusion.

“Tell me again, how it happened” she finally says.

Dipper purses his ghostly lips. Ever since he woke up his mind has a drawn a blank, he remembers falling from a very high place, but not much else. “I don't really know… One minute I was walking by the sea and the next Poof! Ghost form activated.”

“How did you manage to find me so quickly?” she asked, recalling when he popped up at the café where she worked. One thing’s for sure, she couldn’t go back there anymore, not with the way she had yelled at all those innocent people. “Can you teleport?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” He grimaced “It takes a lot of energy though. Just talking to you like this is hard enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to focus to maintain this form. If I don’t, I kinda just… disappear, I guess.”

“Why only me?” she pressed, “Why can’t you talk to Mom or Dad? Or any of the others?”

“You were the first person I thought of when I woke up Mabel, I really don't know any more than you do.”

Mabel nodded. It made sense, and if everything Dipper said was true then the ordeal must have put a strain on his memory, no doubt things would return to him eventually. For now, they needed somewhere safe to recoup and figure out the next step. There was only one place in the world they could do that.

“Well… this is certainly a mystery worth investigating but first things first, we’ve got to call Grunkle Ford! He’ll know what to do. Or at least, he’ll tell us what to do and we can try to do them.” She didn’t relish pinching Grunkle Ford away from his excursion in the Middle East but this was an emergency!

“Where’s Stan?”

“He’s on his way here to pick us up.” She replied, noting the worried look on his face and added “Don’t worry bro-bro, we’ll straighten this mess out and have you back in no time.”

He smiles, knowing he can count on her whenever needed. Mabel had proved herself to be more than the selfish brat she was at thirteen and he could only hope she could say the same for him. However, he could not shake the feeling that he was forgetting something very important, a clue that would unravel this mystery, a voice that is calling his name.

They make their way to the main road and Mabel fires a quick text to inform their parents of her whereabouts, that she won’t be coming back until the end of summer.

“The body we buried today is just a double.” She explains, “flirted with Elbert the mortician to help make the arrangements, which _ew_. You owe me plenty of banana splits after this, I hope you know that.”

“So where’s the real one?”

“In Seuss’ freezer! He had to eat all the ice cream to make room.”

“Right.” The thought of his corpse sloshing around in the bottom of a cooler made Dipper a little queasy. “Look, Mabel, there’s something important I have to tell you…” He takes a deep breath but just as he’s about to speak, a loud honk rips through the air.

They pause to see a familiar looking convertible roll up to the curb, its broken window revealing a familiar red nose on a familiar square face.

“Did someone order a day-old pizza?” bellows a gravelly voice.

“Grunkle Stan!” they both cry out, rushing towards the open arms. Sadly, there was only room for one.

“Long time no see, kid.” Stan leans down to swoop Mabel off her feet, spinning her round as she giggles uncontrollably into his scratchy beard. It had been far too long!

“I missed you so much Grunkle Stan!”

He put her down with a knowing smirk, “I miss you too pancake, but I’ll miss you even more if you hadn’t woken me up at 3 a.m. in the morning with no underpants but ah, what can you do.” The old man crinkles an eye before fishing an axe from the backseat. “So, who’s the guy?”

“What guy?”

“The guy that knocked you up of course! Isn’t that the big emergency?’

Mabel groans, seven years down the road and dear old Stan is getting a bit senile.

“No, it’s about Dipper!” she points at the apparition.

“He can’t see me Mabel.”

“Oh right.” She frowns. “Why weren’t you at the funeral Grunkle Stan? Didn’t you receive an invitation?”

“What invitation? Who’s funeral?”

“Dipper’s!” she nearly screams “He’s dead!”

For a moment the silence hangs on a bare thread, then Stanly’s lips twitch and he doubles over in a great bear-like laugh. “Right, sure, you expect me to believe the boy who survived an apocalypse, multiple near-death experiences and not to mention puberty, is dead before he can grow any chest hair. Oh you're killin me Mabel! Dipper Pines dead? Bwahahaha!”

Mabel cringes, only Stan would mistake his grand-nephew’s unfortunate demise as a practical joke. Though, he did have a valid point. Dipper isn’t exactly Muhammad Ali but it still takes more than a swim to kill him, to kill any of them. It was rather strange, especially since no one had witnessed his fall...

Beside her, Dipper’s seems to share a very different sentiment.

“I so do have chest hair! Tell him I have chest hair, tell him Mabel!”

She ignores them and climbs in the passenger seat, Stan getting in right after. No one seems to remember that Dipper can’t open doors anymore, so he phases through the backseat, slightly disturbed that he could do that and briefly wonders if he could phase through to the very center of the earth. If Ford was here, he would not doubt call it particle shifting, or something sciency like that.

Stan pulls the car into reverse before speeding off, nearly running into a possum as he did so.

“The only thing strong enough to kill us, is well _us_.” He fiddles with the stereo, “and maybe high blood cholesterol, but don’t tell my doctor I said that.”

The enter the freeway just as soft supple music fills the car, a musty flush of wind entering from the rolled windows. Mabel puts her feet up on the dashboard, long hair flushed against the backseat as she hums to the beat. At the intersection, the drawbridge lowers into a long tunnel and the car is plunged into darkness, bits of light trembling in the rear view mirror. Yellow road signs dot the narrow passage, vehicles on the opposite lane flashing by on blurry wings.

A moment of tranquility, a calm before the storm. She’s about to doze off when the music crescendos, followed by a scream that shakes her to the very core.

She’s awake immediately.

“Dipper! What’s wrong?!’ The screams in her ears tears octaves as she watches helplessly, Dipper bent over in half as he clutches at his hair, banging his head against an invisible foe.

From the speakers, a falsetto begins to sing.

“ _We’ll meet again~”_

She unbuckles quickly and darts into the backseat. All Stanley sees in the mirror is his own terrified eyes and a girl clutching at air.

“What’s happening back there? Mabel!”

“ _Don’t know how, don’t know when~”_

“I don't know Grunkle Stan, I don't know!” She stares at the limp body of her brother with panic in her eyes. Dipper is foaming at the mouth, his amber brown pupils blown out into veined streams of red.

_“But I know we’ll meet again~”_

Dials on the stereo flicker wildly, a metronome of flashing lights winking yellow-blue-yellow. The violin strings screech, accompanied by moaning percussion and the maddening keys of a grand piano.

“ARGHH!”

The car screeches to a stop.

_“Some sunny day!”_


End file.
